Crazy Story - How I Earned and Lost ~$500,000 - Also Post Your Own Crazy Stories
EDIT: I know it's a very long post, but it's also a very cool story that's worth reading. It was certainly worth living.
I'll start by saying that I'm changing minor details of the story I'm about to tell for security reasons. The events described are actual experiences I had, ones that I've never shared before on Bluelight. I feel comfortable telling this story here now because I'm no longer involved in any sort of illegal business, and it's been a LONG time since I was. Despite being incriminating in nature, no one has any proof that I did this (certainly not law enforcement). In fact, no proof exists, except a few tidbits that only I know about. With no proof available, I can easily claim this as fiction for my own amusement, should I wish to.
It's the story of how I gained nearly half a million dollars, and lost it all due to some bad luck and a serious addiction to opiates.
I have to start with another story that becomes important in the main story. It started in Prince Edward Island, a province of Canada.
I was dumb when I was younger, and I did some very stupid things. One of the things I did, at one point, was drink quite a lot, and then take quite a lot of benzos (I
believe it was nitrazepam). Well, as expected, I blacked out. When I awoke, I was naked, in a farmer's field, with three 40 ounce liquor bottles next to me (one full, one half full, and one empty). I had no idea where I was, or even how long I'd been blacked out. After hopping through a couple backyards, I was able to find some clothing to wear that was hanging out to dry (luckily!). My next step was to figure out where the fuck I actually was, and so I got to have an awkward conversation with a random person after knocking on his door. I asked him where I was, and what day it was, knowing I looked like a crazy person. He told me I was in New Brunswick, and the date he gave me was two days after I'd started drinking. So I had traveled, while completely blacked out, two provinces away, and had lost two whole days doing so. I ended up hitchhiking back to PEI. To this day I still have NO IDEA whatsoever as to how I managed to get that far, and also no clue as to what I did for those two days. But apparently I took ridiculous amounts of the benzo, because my memory was completely shot; just barely functional really.
Alright, that story becomes important later.
So when I was in PEI, attending university (I was late in my 17th year, approaching 18 ), I habitually made the ~4 hour drive to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where I'd pick up the various psychoactives that I enjoyed. Halifax is a port city, and it is very easy to obtain the substances that you're looking for there. By sheer luck, I met a person who ended up changing my life by offering me an amazing opportunity that I decided to capitalize on. This person was affiliated with a certain group that were involved in quite a lot of criminal activity. I'll call him "D" from here out. D helped me find some psychedelics and some opiates when most other people were completely dry (at least those I knew; I didn't live in Halifax, so I didn't know that many people). Since he helped me out when I really needed it, I offered to share what he'd sourced for me. D was pleased that I'd offered that, and took me on my offer. We did mushrooms and MDMA together, and then took some morphine in the morning after staying awake all night. We seemed to bond, and D seemed like an incredibly nice guy, considering the circles he generally ran with.
So this became a regular occurrence, I'd go to Halifax, trip with D, talk about all sorts of stuff (he was an intelligent man with a lot of experience and knowledge). We became very close friends. When he learned that I could "cook" various things, he asked me if I would do him a favour and produce some crystal. It was my first time doing it, and I had to study up and procure some supplies, and a knowledgeable assistant, but in the end I managed to get a fairly decent yield of good product. I gave it to D, and this is when he asked me the question that altered my life for the next few years. He asked me if I would move various products from Nova Scotia to PEI; in other words, he entered into a business relationship with me. He trusted me, after all our experiences together, and so he fronted me a moderate amount of various common psychoactives. I told him I wouldn't transfer heroin or meth (I also said I wouldn't move cocaine, but I eventually ended up doing that to a limited extent), but that I'd definitely move other things for him.
I took that first fronted supply, and brought it to PEI. D had given me a list of names and phone numbers, to find the people that D trusted me to offload to (I also knew a number of people who I could trust, too). These people were all either big dealers, who sold to smaller dealers, or the smaller dealers themselves who sold to users (though I preferred the bigger dealers because I could offload a lot more a lot quicker with them). With little difficulty, I offloaded everything I'd brought with me. It was easy, because compared to Halifax, PEI was dry as a nun's cunt. From that first transfer of goods, fronted to me, I attained ~30,000 dollars, of which I kept 11,000 as my profit, the rest going to D.
There was almost no security whatsoever driving to and from Halifax. Not ONCE while driving was I ever stopped by a cop, questioned, searched, etc. It was easy as pie, and I was never caught for it in the future movements I did for/with D.
I continued to move product for D, and began investing in my own products to bring over along with D's. Soon, I was making significant amounts of money, for very little work (though I did have to worry about getting caught, even though it never happened). Two years passed. I'd earned roughly $300,000, and helped D make even more than that by far. I was 19. I bought a house, a beautiful house that I'll always miss with bittersweet nostalgia. It had a main floor and a lower level. There were two living rooms with large windows. Five bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, an office/study, an ample attached garage, and a large kitchen. I had a decently sized wooden deck in the back through glass sliding doors. And to top it off, ~14 acres of land surrounding my house. In short, it was fucking
awesome, the best home I've ever had.
Of course, by this time, I'd been using the products I moved with increasing frequency. I already smoked pot 24/7. I was drinking booze a lot. I was using a lot of benzodiazepines. I was binging on amphetamine, though I didn't do it ALL the time (I wasn't addicted to it). I was using coke intravenously (again, not addicted, though I did use a lot over time and at very high [dangerous] doses. There were other miscellaneous drugs that I was doing, but I won't go into detail on all of them. But, finally, I was also using intravenous hydromorphone
heavily (to which I was very addicted). Ridiculous doses, multiple times a day. But at the time, it all seemed ok. I was making PLENTY of money, and I was able to support all this fun. Some days ran me hundreds of dollars, and occasionally I spent over a thousand in a day,
just on drugs. Luckily, I didn't do every drug I was using every day, I usually stuck to pot/hash (every day), my benzos (every day), my booze (about a third of the time), my opiates (every day), and relatively rarely the cocaine (less than ten percent of the time). I was making a lot of money, but I was putting almost all of my income, at that point, straight back into my veins or my lungs. But I wasn't worried yet.
Time went by, and I made more money, and more purchases. I paid a year's lease at once for an excellent apartment so that my (now ex) girlfriend could live there, and we could choose to sleep at my house or the apartment, depending on present circumstances. No one but my girlfriend and a small collection of people I supplied to even knew I was involved in this kind of business. I was flying under the radar as well as I could, and it worked, because I was never investigated by law enforcement (to my knowledge, anyway). I no longer wanted to drive to Halifax so frequently, it was interfering with university and my social life in PEI. I saw less and less of D, which was unfortunate because the guy was like the older brother I never had to me. Instead of those frequent trips, I bought ten large safes (two varieties). I buried them in forested areas in ten different areas of PEI, and stocked them to the brim, after one more trip to Halifax to pick up the largest amount of product I'd ever moved. The amount of money I invested in this bulk purchase was ridiculous, over $200,000; and the value once I began to offload it was FAR more than what I'd paid. So I could stay in PEI, and when someone needed something (it had to be a lot of something, I wouldn't go for small amounts), I could go to one of my safes, carefully dig it up, and then supply the individual with their requested product, often with a bonus of something else just because I had enough to do that. I couldn't possibly offload all that bulk material I'd brought on that last trip, so I had to store it in these safes, until demand rose. I didn't know anyone, or even any group of people, in PEI who could possibly purchase it all. So I had to store it.
Now, I had an interesting little booby trap in each of those safes, one that I designed with help from a good friend. There were relatively fragile glass tubes inside the safes, at their top. I had iron oxide, magnesium, phosphorus, and aluminium inside these tubes, along with an ignition device that went off if the glass tubing broke. What I had was a trap in each safe that would go off if the safe was violently moved or if someone attempted to break into it. When the chemicals that were inside the tubes broke, and the ignition device went off, thermite would be formed. As many of you reading this know, thermite can reach temperatures of over a couple thousand degrees Celsius. In my view, sure, if someone tried to break into or steal one of my safes, I'd lose my product. But, hell, I damn well wasn't going to let them have it, not when there were tens of thousands of dollars of my investments in each one. They'd fuck me over, sure, but I'd fuck them over, and hopefully (if they got in) they'd get a nasty burn not knowing the reaction was taking place (it may sound cruel, but they'd be stealing what I was living off of, so I couldn't care less if they hurt themselves).
As it was, only once did someone try to steal from one of my safes. They must have followed me to it, and seen where it was buried, because when I came back it was moved some distance from where it'd been buried, and it had markings consistent with someone attempting to mechanically break into the safe. When I opened it, of course, all of my psychoactives that I'd stored there were gone. No big deal, I thought, I could bear the loss. At this point, my total profits had been ~500,000, almost half a million dollars in just a few year's "work" (more like a few year's binge with occasional breaks to transport or meet up with people). I'd spent most of that on drugs, though, and I had less than ~25,000 dollars in cash. I had but two debts, which was ~80,000 dollars owed to D, who was giving me ample time to pay it back (we were good friends, and he knew I'd get it to him; I always had before), and the remainder to be paid so that I'd finally OWN my house.
But, alas, all good things come to an end, and in this case, I crashed and burned. This is where the benzo story from way up at the top of this post comes in. When I came back to PEI from that benzo-induced road trip, I'd forgotten the code I used on FOUR of my safes! I simply COULD NOT remember, and believe me, I tried everything I could think of. I still had five other safes (one having been ruined by the attempted theft of it), and I could get into those, but now I was out (my estimate) of 120-160 thousand dollars (sale value) in those safes. And I couldn't break into them, because of my blasted booby trap. Couldn't bring them to a safe cracker, because he'd turn me in the minute he saw the contents; not to mention the safes had to be moved very cautiously, so as not to break the glass tubes of the trap. In other words, I was FUCKED.
I had to take everything from the other safes, sell it all at vastly reduced prices to get rid of it fast for quick money (they also had considerably less product than the four safes I couldn't open because these five were the ones I most commonly used). I also had to sell my house (
), and had to use much of the profit from selling it to pay what I still owed on it. Now I had no drugs, no home (the apartment lease was over), no prospects for getting more product until I paid D back with money I didn't have, and a severe addiction to hydromorphone to contend with on top of all that.
I spent a few weeks in hotels, which used up a significant portion of my remaining money. By the time I'd paid for those hotels and obtained enough hydromorphone to be secure and safe from withdrawal, I had next to no money left. And to top it off, I learned that there was a warrant out for my arrest.
I did the only thing I could do. I ditched province and went to Halifax. I explained everything to D, and he was remarkably understanding, but he still needed me to make it up to him (I mean, it was ~80,000). So I cooked crystal again for him for a while, until he agreed I'd made up for the money owed. Then he gave me 10,000 to help me move. I spent some time with my parents, was put in a psych ward for a while, and when I got out I used the ten grand to set up shop in Ontario.
I had it all, and I lost it all, and what I didn't lose went straight into my veins and lungs. Nothing at all to show for half a million dollars, except this story and all the experiences I gained living that life. I don't regret it all, I learned a lot doing this. But if only I'd saved some of that money, or quit while I was ahead, I'd be fairly set for several years of my life.
But one day, sometime in the future, I'm going to go back to PEI (after clearing up that warrant [which was for a crime I didn't commit, ironically]). I'm going to study the two types of safe I used, and I'm going to learn to crack them. Eventually, I'm taking back what's mine.
I drool like Pavlov's dogs when I think about it.
So, that's my story. Some things omitted, a couple things changed slightly, but overall, how it went down. I've always wanted to post this on Bluelight, and now that I have I feel great. No one but my ex-girlfriend, D, and a handful of dealers in PEI knew about all this, not even my family. I never got to show my family any of the money I made or the house I bought, because they'd know it must have been obtained through illegal proceeds. I've only told maybe 4-5 people other than those I mentioned above. It feels good to tell the story, I got to relive some of the good times.
Anyone else have any crazy/amazing stories like this? Not necessarily about making/losing money, but just experiences/adventures that are incredible and related to drugs.
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
didn't sound too good.. Sadly, some drugs react negatively with one another with certain people ect. I guess yours is opiates and weed and mine is synthetic cannabis and alcohol...well synthetic cannabis period man that stuff blows.
